


In the Moonlight, Calling Out

by ABookAndACoffee



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, First Time, NSFW, Oh no there's only one bed..., Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sharing a Bed, What will they do...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 01:23:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10205726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABookAndACoffee/pseuds/ABookAndACoffee
Summary: Azriel and Morrigan find themselves in the last room at an inn and it has only one bed, what will they do???? Trope + prompt “make me” = this fic."A few minutes later, she presses her hips back slightly under the guise of making herself comfortable, knowing that she is pressing her ass into his cock. She feels Azriel’s body stiffen behind her and hears him inhale sharply. Smiling to herself, she readjusts her head on her pillow and waits. When she feels him begin to relax, his breathing becoming more even, she moves her hips back against him again. The movement is calculated; the soft flesh of her rear presses into his hips, and she feels him begin to harden slightly underneath the pressure of her.'Morrigan,' he manages to get out. 'Stop doing that. Go to sleep.'She turns her head slightly so she can see him out of the corner of her eye, keeping her hips firmly in place against him.'Make me.' She turns back to her side, laying her arm on his and forcing him to tighten his grip around her waist."





	

Walking into the room, Mor takes a look around and a small smirk of satisfaction crosses her lips. Giving herself time to erase it before she faces Azriel, she pauses. She turns to meet him, plastering a concerned look on her face, the kind of look that would seem genuine to anyone who doesn’t know her as well the shadowsinger does. 

When he enters and sees her expression, he stops in the doorway. 

“What…” He looks around at the room, consternation appearing on his face when he notices less furniture than he counted on. 

Mor puts a hand on his chest to stop his protests. “Before you begin, I asked. This is all they have. It’s a large bed, plenty of room for the both of us. I tried. This is a small town, this is the only place to stay for miles, so we can’t exactly be picky. And before you ask, I’m not winnowing us home. Not when we have to get up so early for meetings you know we can’t be late for.” 

Azriel closes his mouth, contemplating his next response. Taking in the room, he is chagrined to verify that there is indeed one bed, two nightstands on either side, a small dresser, and little else. A door to his left leads to the bathroom, and he is thankful for the small privacy they will be granted. The bed is substantial, indeed enough room for the both of them, even with his wings, but… 

The thought of being that close to her all night makes tension creep up into his neck, his self-control already taxed daily by the way she brushes him with her fingertips, tilts her head to look at him, absently wraps her long hair around her hand and gently tugs it while she is deep in thought. He is used to relieving that tension by himself when he returns to his room at night, but now he will be around Morrigan for the foreseeable future… His jaw clenches. 

On a rare trip together for work, Morrigan and Azriel have found themselves at this inn in the middle of nowhere, a place in the Winter Court neither of them frequent. Apparently, the eccentric local lord likes to live a more rustic lifestyle than most High Fae, so they are in isolated, unfamiliar territory in more ways than one. Before they left Mor had reassured Azriel that they shouldn’t have trouble finding accommodations, although now he wonders how much she knew about this place beforehand. 

And now they are here, in this room with one bed, and she is waiting for him to respond. He isn’t sure what she expects him to say, but when he nods grimly she seems… pleased. 

Stepping aside, Mor lets him enter the room and closes the door behind them. As she moves in front of him to set down a small bag, his eyes wander to her hips, admiring the way her pants hug her thighs in ways a dress never could. He looks away quickly; he will just need to go to sleep, and fast. 

When she turns around to face him again, he points his chin to the floor. “I’ll sleep there,” he says shortly. 

“You are not sleeping on the floor, Az,” she replies. “Don’t be ridiculous. The bed is plenty big enough for the both of us. But I get the bathroom first.” She shoots him a challenging look and pulls a scrap of blue fabric out of her bag that he assumes is a washcloth. 

“Mor, this isn’t necessary. I’m perfectly-“ 

“No,” she says, stopping him short. “Don’t argue with me anymore. I’m tired, you’re tired, let’s just… deal with it. There is no reason for either of us to sleep on the floor. Definitely not me. But not you, either.” She watches the movement of his jaw, the rise and fall of his chest, as he decides. Finally, he nods. 

Twice in the space of a few minutes, he has given in to her. Not that she ever doubted he would, but sometimes it can be difficult, getting Azriel to accept anything for himself. Usually it is a matter of how much effort she has to extend to get him to agree with her, so she is pleased that he has put up relatively little fight this evening. Satisfied, Mor waltzes into the bathroom. 

When he hears the click of the lock behind her, Azriel let out a deep breath. He paces for a moment, willing the blood rushing through him to calm. He won’t make it through the night at this rate, and he silently curses her for being the one woman who can get under his skin simply by looking at him. He has wanted her ever since she walked into the camp, and when their eyes met he knew that this was someone he would protect with everything he had. But he also knew that he would do anything she asked, that she could push his restraint to its limit with the mere flick of her tongue over her lower lip. 

And all of this is still true, which will make this stay particularly difficult. He forces himself to stop pacing and takes a deep breath, gathering his things while he waits for his turn to prepare for bed. 

When Mor walks out of the bathroom she is in a scrap of blue silk that barely covers her ass, and forget about concealing her peaked nipples. If anything, the fabric clings to her in ways that leave very little to the imagination, and his eyes are unable to rest in one spot. He lets them travel slowly from her bare feet, up her legs to her hips, the valley between her breasts (he will _not_ stare at the way the fabric clings to those particular curves, damnit), up to her throat until their eyes meet. 

Az takes in a sharp breath. “Morrigan, didn’t you bring appropriate clothing? This isn’t…” 

“Isn’t what?” she retorts. “What should I wear, Az? Something that would make _you_ more comfortable?” She smirks at him. “This is what I always wear to bed. You wouldn’t know, of course. But it’s not like we were planning on sleeping in a tent. This suits me just fine.” 

Strolling into the room, his eyes following her progress, Mor leans back against the dresser, placing her hands on it to hoist herself up to sit on its wooden surface. Crossing her legs, she grabs a bottle of lotion and begins to apply it to herself while Az watches, speechless. He sits back on the edge of the bed with a graceless thud. A mixture of false indignation and awe take turns crossing his face as he stares, his eyes following the motion of her hands moving across her bare skin, along her arms, her head tilting as she reaches for her neck, and then to her chest to spread the lotion on herself, leaving behind the faintest scent of cinnamon. 

Arching her back slightly, she flicks her tongue over her lips, making a contended hum to herself. She tries to keep her gaze away from him and a grin off her face as she puts on a show for Azriel, attending to the task much slower than she would ordinarily. 

Mor moves to rub lotion on her long, golden legs, her hands skimming her thighs, moving closer to her hips. When she begins to uncross her legs, Az jumps up suddenly, making his excuses to go to the restroom to change. Smirking to herself, she continues getting ready for bed. 

In the bathroom, Az braces himself on the sink, trying to calm the roar in his veins that has now taken over his senses. He briefly considers taking care of himself while he is there, but just as quickly dismisses the idea. He can’t do that with only a cheap, thin piece of wood separating them, not when she might get suspicious. Not when he wants to press her against that dresser and… Shaking his head, he changes out of his leathers quickly. 

When Azriel comes out of the bathroom he is without a shirt, only wearing soft cotton pants. Mor crosses her arms, taking him in the way he had her. She has seen him without a shirt plenty of times but her eyes glaze over with lust at the bare skin and muscles of his torso. His low-slung pants are held up by a drawstring and if she just reaches forward she could untie it and tug his pants over his hips, getting on her knees to take him into her mouth while he clenches her hair in his fists… 

He clears his throat. 

“Az, don’t you have anything decent to wear,” Mor says after coming to her senses. “I am scandalized, thoroughly.” Grinning at him, she jumps down off the dresser, turning her back to him quickly and clearing her mind of the thought of how his cock might feel in her mouth. 

He narrows his eyes at her, running a hand through his hair. “Which side of the bed do you want?” 

When she shrugs he takes the side farthest from her, lying on his side with his back towards the wall and facing away from her. He positions himself on the edge of the bed, his wings tucked in tightly, willing himself to be still, pretending that he has much less space than is actually available, trying to forget that Morrigan will be lying just on the other side of that void. And wearing that nightgown - if he would call it that - that barely covers her… Blood begins to roar through him again and he clenches his teeth, trying to think of anything other than the hint of warmth he might be able to glean from her being nearby. 

Mor rolls her eyes at Azriel’s back and sits on the edge of the bed, making sure she hasn’t left any lotion on her skin before lying down. While she makes sure to take up her side of the bed, there are still a few feet of space in between them. Turning her head, she lets her eyes roam his back. The moon is full, giving her enough light to admire him by. His wings cover most of him, but between them she can still see the continuation of his tattoos, the ripple of the strong muscles he uses when he gathers her in his arms to take her to the House of Wind. She reaches across the bed, wanting to stroke him. When she still can’t reach him because of the space he has created, she throws her arm down on the bed with flourish. 

“Azriel, I don’t have some disease you might catch. You’re going to fall off the bed. Now come here, because my highly inappropriate clothing is doing nothing to keep me warm.” She tries to keep her tone commanding, but somehow it comes out more like a request. 

“You’re cold?” His voice is low, a slight hesitation. He isn’t sure whether he should be concerned about her health or just impressed - and a little bit jealous - that she has taken so little precaution to try to mask her intentions. There is something intriguing in this charade that they are both putting on, the tension between them coming in thick waves that make it difficult to breath. 

“Yes. So come over here and share some of your warmth with me,” she responds, turning her back to him. She clearly wants him to press into her, but the way the fabric is falling over her curves… Cauldron, he can see the dip of her waist and the hem of the nightgown has fallen in such a way that the bottom few inches of her ass is showing, revealing the color of her panties, and if he lays next to her… 

Grabbing a blanket from the end of the bed, he throws it over her. 

Slowly, Morrigan turns over on her back, incredulity on her face. Azriel is in the process of settling himself back down, though not quite as far away as before, when she sits up. 

“Are you kidding me?’ she asks. “Azriel, that’s not what I meant.” Glaring at him, she waits. A look passes between them in which both of their expressions change, her demand clear, and his hesitation eventually giving way to acquiescence. 

He blinks, forcing himself to move closer while keeping his eyes on her shoulders. Without another word, he settles into her back, having put her off as long as he can. And damned if he isn’t relieved to stop acting like he doesn’t want to feel her in his arms right now… He just hopes his hard-on will subside before she notices. 

She lifts herself up on an elbow, wrapping her long hair around her hand in order to throw it over her shoulder. Her honey-scented shampoo and cinnamon-scented lotion are a familiar combination, and now he understands the source of the smells that always alerts him to her presence. He catalogues these facts along with others that make up the parts of her whole. 

When she lies back down on her side to rest comfortably in his arms he drapes one loosely over her waist, having nowhere else to put it. She swears she can hear him grinding his teeth, but then he reaches down to grab the blanket and pulls it up to cover them both. Pulling it up to her shoulders, he lets the fabric fall between them, making sure to get as much of a barrier between them as possible. 

“Goodnight, Az,” she says quietly. 

“Goodnight, Morrigan,” he answers, grateful that perhaps he has managed to make it through, if only he can go to sleep quickly with the heat and press of her body tucked into his. 

Sighing slightly, Mor thinks rapidly. 

A few minutes later, she presses her hips back slightly under the guise of making herself comfortable, knowing that she is pressing her ass into his cock. She feels Azriel’s body stiffen behind her and hears him inhale sharply. Smiling to herself, she readjusts her head on her pillow and waits. When she feels him begin to relax, his breathing becoming more even, she moves her hips back against him again. The movement is calculated; the soft flesh of her rear presses into his hips, and she feels him begin to harden slightly underneath the pressure of her. 

“Morrigan,” he manages to get out. “Stop doing that. Go to sleep.” 

She turns her head slightly so she can see him out of the corner of her eye, keeping her hips firmly in place against him. 

“Make me.” She turns back to her side, laying her arm on his and forcing him to tighten his grip around her waist. 

What feels like hours later, she shifts slightly again, testing her luck. She is delighted to find that he is still awake, and very, very attentive to the way her body moves in his arms. 

“Mor… what are you doing?” he asks. She turns back again to look at him. A familiar calm has settled over his features, but given how she successful she thought she was a moment ago at breaking through this exterior, frustration takes over and she comes close to losing her temper. 

“What do you mean, what am I doing? I think it’s perfectly clear.” She glares at him, wishing he weren’t able to stay calm all the time. “Do I need to spell it out for you?” 

Before he realizes there is even a decision to make he has made it, and the words that come out are some variation of conversations he has played out in his head hundreds of times before. 

Quietly, his lips close to her ear, he says, “Since I’ve wanted to fuck you since the first time I saw you… no. You don’t need to spell it out.” 

A small thrill goes through her at the confirmation that he wants her as much as she wants him, the fact that she had finally broken through his restraint. She would dance for victory, but she has a feeling that her evening is going to get much, much more interesting. Something tightens in her stomach and she swallows, waiting for him to continue. 

His breath is warm on her neck, his voice a low rumble at her back. “You didn’t need to wear that. You could have been covered head to foot, and I would want you. You could walk in sweaty, and dirty, and angry, and I would want to throw you down on this bed and taste every inch of you, Morrigan.” 

The way he says her name causes a rush of heat to go through her, her toes involuntarily curling at what he is implying. She shifts again, her rear pressing into him once more. 

"Morrigan," he says, leaning into her so that his lips brush her ear. He teases out the syllables of her name, making each one sound like a promise. ”Do you want me to fuck you right now?” The words go between her legs and draw a strangled noise from her throat. He pushes his hips into her rear, returning her gesture so she can feel how hard he has become for her, thanks to the scrap of silk she is wearing and the repeated movement of her own hips against him. Reaching up to grasp strands of his thick, dark hair between her fingers, she nods more vehemently than she intended, but words won’t make it past her lips. 

Azriel reaches his arm under the blanket, removing the barrier between their bodies. Wrapping his arm against her waist, he buries his face in the back of her neck, breathing in deeply as he moves his hand slowly up her stomach. He splays his fingers, trying to touch as much of her as the broad reach of his hands will allow while savoring the heat of her beneath the soft silk. He begins to place small kisses along her shoulder while she arches into him, grasping his hair while his hand works. 

He reaches up to cup her breast and waits only a moment before pushing the fabric of her nightgown down to hold her bare breast in his hand. When he works her nipple into a peak between his fingers a sudden moan escapes her lips, and Mor loses all ability to think coherently. She begins to whisper his name and he pulls gently on her shoulder to push her onto her back, covering her mouth with his own and swallowing the sounds that come out of her unbidden. 

For a moment they look at one another, another conversation occurring through his questioning looks and the certainty of her own expression. 

They become a flurry of movement, grabbing for each other, her hands running through his hair, his tongue traveling down the slope of her neck while his hands grasp her thighs, pressing bruises into them the shape of his fingertips. When he pushes the fabric of her nightgown up over her waist she stops him, pushing him onto his back. Waiting for him to adjust his wings beneath him, she straddles him and pulls him up to sitting, meeting him with her lips and tongue. 

They have barely begun and the only sound in the room is heavy breathing, sloppy kisses and his lips making contact with skin he has only been able to imagine before. 

She lifts her arms and he slides her nightgown up, his hands running up her sides to take in the curve and swell of her as he removes it. He throws it roughly to the floor and she reaches for him immediately, pulling him towards her while arching her back and rocking her hips into him, trying to feel him beneath her. While she holds them together he reaches down and rips the remaining fabric on her, the lace of her panties joining her nightgown on the floor. 

“Azriel,” she says, panting, holding his face between her hands. He stops, looking into her for any sign that she regrets being naked in his lap. Although, from her scent, if he were to reach down right now he knows exactly what he would find between her legs. He longs to reach down, to feel the slick he knows is for him, but he waits for her word, a sign. 

“Morrigan,” he answers, and he realizes that this is all she wants. To say each other’s names openly, freely, as if her saying Azriel and him saying Morrigan were an admission of something else. Something neither of them have named before. 

He wraps his arms around her waist and they kiss, gently, pausing for a moment to breath and take each other in. Azriel runs his fingers up her arms, wanting to thrust his hardened cock up into her, but waiting. She presses herself into him, enjoying the warm and solid feeling of his chest against hers while he runs his knuckles along her side, brushing her breasts and causing her to shudder on him. 

He pushes her back, eyes devouring her in a way that causes a fresh wave of heat to rush between her legs. He runs his mouth over her like he can live on her, on her breath and scent and the moans that come from deep in her throat. So quietly she isn’t sure she hears it, he whispers her name into the skin of her breast before he takes her nipple into his mouth. Flicking his tongue, he places it between his teeth and pulls on it until she cries out, the slight discomfort sending a shock through her body. She threads her hands through his hair, feeling the movement of his head as he shifts, switching to pay the same attention to her other breast as she rocks her hips on him. 

“Az… I need… I need you…” He waits, wanting her to say the words, but she grabs his hand and places it between her legs. 

He chuckles softly, his breath brushing her neck, using one finger to run gently through her folds, getting just a hint of how wet she is for him. 

“Is this what you want, Morrigan? You need to tell me.” He pulls his finger away, paused inches away from her. When she tries to buck her hips he moves his fingers further away. 

“Yes. Azriel, I need your fingers on me, I need you to touch me.” She leans forward to kiss him but he pulls away, watching her expression when he places his fingers on her again, stroking her this time, rubbing her wetness through her and fingering her clit in a way that has her crying out and clutching his neck to stay upright. 

“Do you like that, Morrigan?” he asks, knowing full well that she is now at his mercy. She nods, her head hanging, hair falling in her face. With his other hand he grips her chin, forcing her to look at him. 

“Tell me what you want,” he commands her, and she wonders if he already knows what she will say, what she needs. They have never been together before, but she has the sense that he is already intimately familiar with her body, as if he has been studying her and calculating how he might please her and wring these sounds from her. 

She doesn’t answer, and when he thrusts his fingers inside of her, one, and then another, she bites her tongue, the sound of a whine muffling in her throat. She rocks her hips on his hand involuntarily and he increases his pace, but she grabs his wrist to stop him. 

“I want…” she pants. “I want you inside of me. Now.” 

Not needing any more encouragement, he removes his fingers. Before he moves to take off his pants, he raises his fingers to his mouth, tasting her. He closes his eyes while he sucks on his fingers, and she watches him, practically climaxing at the idea of his head between her legs. 

“Morrigan… you taste delicious,” he murmurs before opening his eyes. 

“Azriel,” she whines, knowing that he is teasing her, that he is making her wait, wondering if this is how it will always be. And not really minding in the slightest. 

Grabbing her around the waist, he flips her on her back, removing his pants before returning to hover over her. She reaches down, finally able to grip his cock in her hand, wrapping her fingers around him. He groans into her neck, her name a labored noise that escapes him while she runs her fingers along him, running her thumb over the tip, gripping him tightly when she gets to the base. She angles her hips up and he moves to meet her, sliding in slowly at first. 

The way that she looks at him, whimpers, moves her hips into him, tests his control, and Azriel thinks he might come far sooner than he wants, than she needs. He pauses for a moment, taking a breath to calm himself slightly before he begins to thrust into her. He won’t come before she is ready to. The way she is looking up at him, she seems to recognize his need for control, and she holds herself back for him, momentarily, keeping her hips still. 

When he begins to move inside of her, pulling out and thrusting back in, slowly at first, she presses her head back into the pillow, a low moan forcing its way out of her. She savors the way that his weight forces her thighs apart, presses her knees outward so he can better fit between them. 

That he had needed so much subtle persuasion to get them to this point makes her want to laugh; as if either of them had actually had another choice in mind, as if they weren’t always compelled to find each other in this way. 

His thrusts grow more insistent, the sound of the rocking bed frame joining their labored breathing. The tension between her legs grows, driving Mor to the edge as he fills her fully, sliding into her and hitting a spot that has her bunching the sheets in her fists. 

She begins to cry out when one hand drifts up from beside her, covering her mouth gently. Az looks into her eyes, nodding his head at her. “I want you to scream, Morrigan. But not here.” She nods back at him, allowing him to keep his hand over her mouth. 

He continues thrusting into her, the rhythm making her throw her head back on the pillow, arching her back. Azriel licks a path up her exposed neck, thrilling at the vulnerability of his Morrigan beneath him, completely overtaken with lust. 

When he had seen to his own needs before, he had never imagined something like this; the way her scent envelopes him, the sound of their skin meeting over and over, the remaining slick of her that he hadn’t managed to taste still coating his fingers. Sweat covers her in a thin sheen and strands of hair are plastered to her neck. He leans down, her hair covering his face, and he doesn’t mind a moment of it. 

Mor is so close now; she feels like she has been teetering on the edge since the moment they walked into that room and now… _fuck_ , he feels good inside of her, and she contracts her walls around his cock, inducing an involuntary groan from him. He grabs her thigh, pulling it up until her leg is resting against his arm while he pounds his hips into her. 

She clings to him like he is the only safe thing in the world, her rock in the storm. She has always know that he is; she has always known that she will be the same for him, the moment he asks. 

She’s had many lovers over the years, but Azriel… her breath catches in her throat, the only sign that she knows she is still breathing. His hands are rough and gentle on her, and she just wants more, more, _more_. She wants to wrap herself around him and over him and she becomes overwhelmed with his scent, his shadows, his wings sheltering them from the outside world. If she could forget it all exists she would; she would pretend that all there is in the world is the way his hands run over her skin in desperation and worship, the feeling of him filling her. 

Azriel reaches between her legs to stroke her clit but he doesn’t need to; within moments she is climaxing around his cock, her legs tightening around his waist as she grips him between her thighs and he coaxes her through the waves that rush through her core. She cries out his name and he lets her, the sound coming through his fingers. 

He follows quickly after her, finally allowing himself to stop holding back now that he knows she has found her release. He groans into her neck again, allowing himself to put more of his weight on her as his thrusting slows and he spills himself into her. Mor strokes him, her fingers running through his hair in comfort and reassurance as his pace becomes erratic, slow, until he has put everything he has into her and releases the tension that has been building all night. 

Mor places small kisses on his forehead, his labored breath blowing a strand of hair on her neck. When he slides out of her, they rest side by side, taking stock of what they have done, the line they have crossed. They face each other, her hands resting underneath her head, his fingers stroking her arm. They both wonder how they will make this work when they get home, when they will be able to see each other like this, and how often. 

“Azriel,” she says, a smile ghosting her lips. 

“Morrigan,” he replies, his face calm and solemn as he makes a silent promise to himself. 

Once her breathing has steadied she stands to go to the bathroom. As she walks away she turns and back to him and smiles, catching him staring, as she knew he would be. 

When she comes back out, Azriel looks at her and they have another silent conversation. He turns on his side, holding his arms open for her to slide over to him. The tension of before, the idea that either of them would have hesitated at this, seems ridiculous. 

Returning to the position they began in, an already-comfortable silence falls over them. He feels like he could sustain himself on these moments, that when they leave here it may happen again and again, but that it will never be like this. He already understands the nuances of her moans and whimpers, but somehow it is novel, and the hungry way she had looked at him when he came out of the bathroom earlier makes him wonder how long she has wanted this. 

They fall asleep wrapped in each other, the tension and discomfort in the way they had lain like this before vanished. The freedom with which they touch each other now is a balm, and they settle into sleeping in the same bed as if they had been doing it all along. 

*** 

When they wake the next morning, they find themselves wrapped in one another in a similar position to how they had fallen asleep. 

“Morrigan,” he whispers softly in her ear. 

“Azriel,” she replies. 

They no longer care if they are late to their meetings. 

As they prepare for the day there is a new tenderness in the way they address each other, and a willingness to look at each other in ways they hadn’t before. Before they leave, Azriel bends Morrigan over the dresser she had sat on the night before and then they try out the bathtub together, giving themselves a few new memories in their room with one bed.

**Author's Note:**

> (Title from the Skott song Wolf; I hate coming up with titles and so take them from songs I like 90% of the time.)
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://abookandacoffee.tumblr.com/); comments appreciated.


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